


so it shall remain

by Snowsheba



Series: thanks, dad. love, hana [12]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 1 year anniversary, Blood, Gen, Illustrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowsheba/pseuds/Snowsheba
Summary: Haneul is twenty-one when they die for their country. Who mourns a nameless soldier among many?





	so it shall remain

Their name is Haneul.

No one hears it mentioned much – in MEKA, IGNs are king between fellow pilots, and to the handlers, it’s the pilot’s title followed by their family name. Haneul has always been affectionately called ‘Tango’ by Hana’s squad, by other squads, even by those who outrank them. And now...

“Tango,” they hear, and the voice cracks on the name.

And now, here, it is dark and frozen and devastatingly beautiful in a way that makes their eyes sting – dark and lonely and achingly cold, a sharp prickling against their skin and their voice ragged in their throat – and they lift a hand to see the red coating their fingers. Haneul takes in an unsteady breath and blinks, once, twice, eyelashes catching with tears.

 _So this is how it ends_ , they think, and they watch with morbid fascination as their blood on the ground crystalizes, slowly but ever-forward.

(Such as it is. So it shall remain.)

“Tell me about your family, Tango,” the same person says over their comm. Apple – AppleCIder – speaks slowly, quietly, her voice hardly above a murmur. She’s not quite yet resigned herself to the inevitable, even when Haneul had gasped _this is it for me_ , and they wish they could reassure her somehow _._ “Tell me about your parents.”

It’s hard to keep their eyes open. It takes focus to keep their words from slurring, and Haneul says, “Guardian. Just my uncle.”

“Tell me about your uncle,” Apple says gently. Haneul can hear soft weeping and knows it’s from MIM. Haneul lets out a long, slow sigh, gathering their strength.

“He took me in when my father died,” they say. “I was – I was six.”

“He must mean a lot to you,” Apple says steadily.

“He played – _Starcraft_ with me a lot,” Haneul says, and then a bubble of heat and pain flares in their lungs and they can’t stop the cough, hacking into the comm for a few minutes, one hand reaching up to cover their mouth. The blood tastes copper against their tongue, and they croak, “Tell him I am sorry. Tell him it isn’t his fault.”

“Tango – ”

“Haneul,” Haneul interrupts, and it’s so hard to draw in breath, so hard to get their fingers to move – but they do it, they lift their phone into their lap and open their contact list through muscle memory, let their fingers struggle across the screen until they see the familiar bubblegum pink. She’s offline, but she has to know, she has to – “My name. You know it.”

“Haneul,” Apple says, and her voice cracks, right down the middle. “Haneul. I am so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Haneul whispers, and the words appear in front of their eyes, fingers moving of their own volition. _It isn’t your fault. It isn’t your fault. It isn’t your fault, D.Va; it isn’t your fault._

* * *

(Somehow, they can see D.Va’s reaction – see the way her hand rises to cover her mouth, eyes wide, entire body shaking. They’ve seen her when she witnesses death firsthand, after all, and this is just another tally in a long, long list.)

(Haneul is only sorry it had to be them – themself, and not someone else in MEKA.)

* * *

“If Youngblood had just – she knew that, she knew she should’ve, but she didn’t. If only – ”

“Not her fault,” Haneul breathes, and because they know, more than anything, that this is on them. D.Va had always kept a close eye on them because she knew that they liked to stray further than they should, and Haneul had gotten used to having a second pair of eyes, braced themself for the sharp reprimand when D.Va noticed they had gone out too far. With Youngblood, such a warning had never come, and Haneul had forgotten in the rush, and now – and now –

And now, this? This, where they lay against the wall, shrapnel digging into their abdomen, one arm shot to nothing, and omnics passing them by without so much as a glance? This was their fault. Haneul knows this to be true, and their breath shudders and clouds in front of their face.

“Yoomi,” Haneul manages. They’re so warm, but that’s because they’re freezing to death and bleeding out and god, why did it have to be like this, so far away from life, surrounded by enemies, sobs quivering their entire frame and they’re so, so alone, “Jaewoo. I am – I am so s-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jaewoo says, voice ragged, and there’s a pause before he says, “You are – the best of us. Haneul , you are the best of us. You will always be the best of us.”

 “I’m sorry we can’t be there for you,” Yoomi says, and her voice is still steady, despite everything. “I’m sorry you’re out there without us. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. You deserved better, and – ”

“We all did,” Haneul whispers, and then, with the finality of a truth that has always gone unspoken, “We all do.”

“God,” Jaewoo says, choked, and he says thickly, “God, why did it have to be you?”

* * *

“If we don’t do this,” D.Va says, eyes narrowed, arms crossed over her chest, shoulders back and proud, “Then the lives we’ve dreamed of – normal lives, lives as civilians, going to university and getting jobs and falling in love – if we don’t do this, then more than just us will be robbed of that chance.

“Don’t you understand?” she says, this small girl with small shoulders and small hands and small everything, except her heart, her mind, her will; “That is why we fight. That is why we must win.”

“You can’t honestly believe that,” Jaewoo replies, dismissive and cold. He’s older than the three of them, two years Haneul’s senior, three years Yoomi’s, four years D.Va’s, and Haneul is inclined to agree with him.

“And they can’t seriously expect us to listen to you,” Yoomi chimes in. “You’re a child. You only won the _Starcraft_ championships because of your freakish APM.” She stares D.Va in the eye, hands on her hips, and points out, “You can barely lift a gun. You can’t even drink.”

For a long moment, Haneul simply watches D.Va’s face. She hasn’t yet lost the baby fat to her cheeks, soft body and smooth hair, acne dotting the skin of her forehead – but then she starts to laugh. It’s the most brittle and awful and broken thing that Haneul has ever heard, and they can’t stop the unsettled shiver down their spine.

“You have no idea what we are capable of,” D.Va says when it dies away, either not noticing of the wide-eyed glances being shared or choosing to ignore them – probably the latter, Haneul thinks. “You, MIM, Tango – you don’t know me, true. But you’ll see.”

She smiles; it’s all tooth and fang. “They all will.”

* * *

So it shall be, Haneul thinks hazily, so it shall remain.

* * *

“ – nuel? Haneul, answer us, _please_.”

“M’sorry,” Haneul says, and they don’t mean for the words to slur, they really don’t, “Still here. Tired.”

“God _dammit_ ,” Yoomi snarls, vehement even in her weakness. “There has to be something we can do, there’s – we could – ”

“No,” Haneul says as forcefully as they manage. There’s blood dribbling down their chin, they think, but their single attempt to lift a hand and wipe it away ends the moment they realize they can barely move. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Haneul,” Yoomi says, voice raw and defeated.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Haneul murmurs, lungs expanding with a breath, _in, out, in, out_. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” she whispers.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Haneul says again, and it doesn’t, not really. It did before, sharp and aching and pounding, but now everything’s soft and hazy and they feel warm even though they know they’re freezing cold to the touch, they know because the blood is freezing on them, now, or starting to, maybe, they can’t tell. Their back folds against the wall, and they stare out as a pair of bastion units scuttle past. “Dark. Warm. I’m sleepy. Not – not a bad place, bad way to go.”

“Are you _joking_ – ”

“Yoomi,” Jaewoo says, his voice soft. “Yoomi, don’t.”

“They’re still _alive_ in there, Jaewoo! There’s still a chance, once Caer gets here, we can – ”

“Yoomi,” Jaewoo says again, quiet.

 _This is the end._ Haneul knows, can feel it resonate in their bones, and they say, “This is goodbye.”

* * *

“I will remember them,” D.Va says. Her eyes are ablaze; across her cheeks are four triangles of pink. “If I do not, no one will.”

“They’re not even part of your squad,” Jaewoo says tiredly, draped across his bunk so that his head tips upside down over the edge. There’s only a hint of humor in his voice when he asks, “Do we get special treatment if we kick the bucket?”

“I won’t let that happen,” D.Va says with a snort, and Jaewoo and Yoomi let out identical, short huffs of laughter. Haneul merely watches, dried tears streaked across their cheeks, curled up against the wall in the corner of their cot, and D.Va says, “But if it did, then yes.”

“And what would it be?” Jaewoo says.

“Your emblem, tattooed somewhere on my skin,” D.Va says without hesitation. A moment’s thought, and she adds, “They will go along well with the scars.”

“Jesus, D.Va,” Yoomi says, smiling even though her voice is – slightly awed.

“No one’s sacrifice will be forgotten,” D.Va says, a promise and a threat all at once, and Haneul, even with the crushing weight that drags their shoulders down, down, down, has never believed in something more in their entire life.

* * *

“I can’t just let them – why did it – ”

“It should’ve been me,” Jaewoo says, voice dead and expressionless and it sounds so wrong coming from him, “I’m the oldest, I’m the one who takes risks, why did it have to be – ”

“No, you know that’s not true,” Yoomi says, suddenly fierce; “It’s not our faults, we can’t change – ”

“I love you both,” Haneul interrupts because they don’t want to hear this anymore, and it’s one of the truest things they’ve ever said, and it cuts their squadmates off faster than a barked command ever could.

“Haneul,” Jaewoo breathes.

“I’m sorry,” Haneul whispers, eyes closing. “I’m so tired.”

“It’s – it’s okay,” Yoomi says, delicate and shattered. “It’s okay. You – you should sleep.”

“You’ve earned it,” Jaewoo agrees, quiet.

Haneul means to say _I’m sorry_. They want to say _I’m glad it’s me and not either one of you_. They think, instead, _this is unfair and I don’t want to die but I guess I will go gently into the night._

_So it shall b –_

* * *

And somewhere, a young soldier paints a stripe of pink across the bridge of her nose, eyes ablaze and heart pounding and fury seething through shaking fingers –

“You will never be forgotten,” D.Va whispers to the darkness, and so it shall remain.

**Author's Note:**

> deciding which of hana's MEKA pilot friends was going to die was one of the hardest choices i've ever had to make when writing TDLH. i spent a day choosing between the three of them, and once i had come to a decision, there were two full days where i mourned tango, as in i kept asking myself _is this what should happen? is this a good idea? does it have to be tango? can't it be someone else?_ this is one of the times where i didn't ask my betas for much input, and when i sprung it on them, they were caught off-guard.
> 
> and then i wrote this, because that's the way it goes, isn't it? happy one year anniversary to this fic. raise a glass. (i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry)
> 
> come find me on [tumblr](https://snowsheba.tumblr.com/). art by [@costumebleh](https://costumebleh.tumblr.com/). Tango's character design by [@ArcaneAdagio](http://arcaneadagio.tumblr.com/).


End file.
